


Untitled (At Least For Now)

by DustInTheWind



Category: A Little Princess - Frances Hodgson Burnett
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24914725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DustInTheWind/pseuds/DustInTheWind
Summary: Because Becky deserves a happy ending too, dammit.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	1. A Lady's Companion

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely loved A Little Princess when I was growing up, and I still love it so much that I read it at least once a year. Over the last couple of years, I’ve begun to take more of an interest in Becky, and I really want her to have a "happily ever after" ending.
> 
> I'm having a lot of fun dreaming up Becky’s life post-Miss Minchin’s, and I'm having even more fun researching Edwardian England and creating a Pinterest board for Becky’s particular tastes and aesthetic. In fact, I would have to say that actually putting pen to paper, so to speak, is the most tedious part of this endeavor, because I'm attempting (with what I suspect will be very limited success) to mimic Frances Hodgson Burnett’s writing style. 
> 
> I’ve picked up right at the end of the second to last chapter, where Ram Dass tells Becky that she is to come live with Sara the next day. I’ve set the start of this story in 1905, which is the year that the revised and extended version of A Little Princess was published. I’ve also made a guess that Becky is about 18 at the end of the book.

_The lamp was flushing the room, the fire was blazing, the supper was waiting; and Ram Dass was standing smiling into her startled face._

_“Missee Sahib remembered,” he said. “She told the sahib all. She wished you to know the good fortune which has befallen here. Behold a letter on the tray. She has written. She did not wish that you should go to sleep unhappy. The sahib commands you to come to him to-morrow. You are to be the attendant of Missee Sahib. To-night I take these things back over the roof.”_

_And having said this with a beaming face, he made a little salaam and slipped through the skylight with an agile silentness of movement which showed Becky how easily he had done it before._

After he had taken his leave and she had finished her supper, Becky lay awake, imagining the life that awaited her next door. She was certain that she would have a warm room with a comfortable bed, that her meals would be regular and substantial, and that she would be given shoes that did not leak. She did not fall asleep for many hours, and woke later than she had intended. When she realized that it was approaching midmorning, she sprang from her couch and dressed hastily, reproaching herself for having slept so late. She ought to have been at the Indian gentleman’s house at least two hours ago!

As she walked up the steps of the house next door she was overcome with doubt, and she stood on the landing for some minutes, trying to work up the courage to ring the bell; perhaps she had only dreamed of Ram Dass and his message the evening before, and she should turn round now and beg Miss Minchin to allow her to keep her place at the seminary.

But her stomach was still satisfied from the supper he had left her, and so his visit must surely have been real, and not merely the product of her imagination. Indeed, he opened the door almost immediately when she rang the bell, and with a smile and a salaam, he led her into the breakfast room, where Sara was waiting for her.

“Becky!” she cried and rose from the table to take Becky’s hand and lead her to a seat at the table.

“Oh miss, I beg yer pardon,” Becky gasped. “I ought t’have been here hours ago.”

Sara furrowed her brow in confusion. “Hours ago? Whatever for?”

“To lay your fire, miss. Ram Dass says I am to be your servant.”

“Oh Becky, no!” Sara said with a little laugh. “I haven’t asked you to come here to be a scullery maid. I’d like you to be-- well--I think what is known as a lady’s companion, although I suppose I’m still too young to be considered a lady.”

Now it was Becky’s turn to furrow her brow. “Don’t you mean a lady’s maid, Miss? To help you dress and serve your tea?”

Sara shrugged. “I suppose you could help me with my dresses, but no, not to serve my tea. To take my meals with me just like we did in Miss Minchin’s attic. And to accompany me when I go for carriage rides or out to the shops.”

It sounded lovely, indeed, but surely this wasn’t correct. Lady’s companions were genteel and had been educated at finishing schools. Someone of Lavinia’s or Ermengarde’s station might serve as one, but Becky really wasn’t even fit to be a lady’s maid. “Begging yer pardon, miss,” she said, “but I don’t see as it’s proper for me to be your companion.”

“Why ever not?!” Sara cried. “You kept me company in the attic. I don’t see why you shouldn’t any longer simply because our setting has changed.” As she spoke, Sara had been filling a plate for Becky, and now she set it before her on the table. “Now, you must have your breakfast while I explain everything to you.”

Becky felt that she was in no position to protest any further. If Sara had decided that she was to be her companion, then that was the end of the matter. In any event, she was not at all unhappy about her change in fortune; she was not certain of all that being a lady’s companion entailed, but it seemed as though her duties would be a great deal more restful than those of a scullery maid.

And so she took up a piece of toast and listened as Sara related the story of how she and the Indian gentleman, whose real name was Mr. Carrisford, had found one another.


	2. Four Beds

After breakfast, the stately but kind-looking housekeeper, whose name was Mrs. Lemmon, came to lead Becky away from the breakfast room and up the stairs.

"Now dear, this here is to be your room," Mrs. Lemmon said, as she opened a carved door on the left side of the hallway.

Nothing could have prepared Becky for the sheer sumptuousness of the surroundings that awaited her as she passed through the doorway, for even Sara's old rooms at the seminary had not been as opulent. The walls were covered in a rich, sea-green brocade embroidered with gold thread, the floors were carpeted with the skins of several lions, and the furniture was fashioned of ornately carved teakwood.

Becky stood by the bed and looked around the room in disbelief as Mrs. Lemmon opened the armoire and took out a set of underthings and a woollen dress. "Now, you'll have a bath," the housekeeper said. "I took the liberty of purchasing a couple of things for you, but, good heavens, you're even smaller than I realized. Well, these will have to do for the present. Now, into the tub with you." And Mrs. Lemmon shooed her into the bathroom, where Becky spent the greater part of the next hour marveling at such luxuries as porcelain tubs filled with as much warm water as one would like and creamy white bars of soap so beautifully embossed that it seemed a shame to use them.

After she had finished her bath and was properly coiffed and attired in clothes that, if a bit too large, were at least respectable, Sara led her to the study to meet Mr. Carrisford.

He sat in his easy chair, wrapped in velvet robes, and managed to suppress a smile as a terrified Becky bobbed curtseys in her graceless, awkward manner and thanked him for his kindness in taking her in. Fortunately for Becky's nerves, the interview lasted only a few minutes. Mr. Carrisford assured Becky that she was quite welcome and expressed his appreciation for the comfort that she had given his young charge during her dark days, and then she and Sara withdrew to the dining room to take their lunch.

When they had finished their meal, a tailor arrived, accompanied by two attendants. He was a short, bespectacled man with greedy-looking eyes and a manner that was somehow at once both haughty and obsequious.

After his attendants had taken Sara's measurements, he produced a book filled with pages and pages of fabric samples, which she studied with delight. Within a quarter of an hour she had ordered so many dresses that Becky had lost count of all of them.

"Now, Becky," Sara said, as she handed her the book. "Which colors do you prefer?"

Becky started, for she had not anticipated that she would be consulted on the matter, and looked down at the book on her lap, which was open to a page containing scraps of silk in several shades of pink. "Well, miss, I don't believe you've ordered a rose-colored silk one yet. You 'ad one once, if you remember, an' I did so like it."

Sara laughed warmly. "Oh no, I didn't mean for me, Becky. I meant which colors do _you_ prefer? For yourself?"

Becky was astonished. "For me, miss?"

"Yes, of course! Why, you need clothes too!" She turned to the tailor. "We will need to take Becky's measurements as well, Mr. Martin."

"Of course," the tailor said with a deep bow of his head in Sara's direction.

Becky touched a piece of salmon-colored silk hesitantly and turned the pages back and forth for several minutes. She hadn't the faintest idea where to begin. There were at least a hundred different shades-crimsons, dove greys, deep greens and blues that reminded her of Sara's peacock feathers, and samples of such delicate lacework that she was afraid to touch them. She could not recall having ever chosen anything for herself, and she did not know how she could be expected to do so now.

The tailor cleared his throat and tapped his foot impatiently as he peered at her over the rims of his spectacles. Becky was beginning to feel faint and the colors swirled together in front of her eyes. Fortunately, Sara realized that the experience was too much for her for the present, and spoke up on her behalf. "Perhaps you could choose the shades and fabrics that you think would look best on Becky," she suggested to the tailor.

"Yes, you choose, sir, if you please, sir," Becky agreed, and with a little sigh of relief, she closed the book and placed it on the table.

The tailor smiled with delight at being granted such a high degree of artistic license, and bowed his head again. Then he took up his tablet and pencil and turned to study Becky's features. "Hair-light golden brown," he murmured to himself as he took his notes. "Eyes-hazel, skin-rather fair."

And then his attendants took her measurements, after which it was time for tea, and then it was time for supper, and finally, in a rather bewildered and overfull state from having eaten an unprecedented amount of food in just one day, Becky mounted the stairs and retreated to her room.

She did not get into bed at first, but walked round and round, touching the little solid gold Buddah on the night table, the heavy velvet drapes at the window, and the smooth marble surface of the mantlepiece. She stopped in front of the mirror on her dressing table and, for the first time in her life, examined her face, just as the tailor had earlier that day. It had never before occurred to her to pay any notice to her appearance; orphans, scullery maids and other such unfortunate creatures were far too preoccupied with weightier matters such as hunger and exhaustion to concern themselves with their looks. But now, Becky sat down on the stool and picked up a hairbrush that Mrs. Lemmon had left on the dressing table for her. She examined it for a minute or two before setting it back down, and then she leaned forward and studied her eyes. She wasn't quite sure what Mr. Martin had meant when he referred to them as being hazel in color, for to her they appeared to be a murky mixture of green and brown.

She sat in this attitude for some time, until the candle at her elbow gave a little sputter, and then she shook herself and stood up, feeling quite silly for having spent so many minutes staring at herself in the glass. She blew out the candle and lay down, but memories of the three other beds that she had known in her life filled her head and kept her from falling asleep.

The first one was a lumpy mattress that she had shared with her mother as a small child. It had sat directly on the floor in the corner of the damp, filthy room in which they lived until the day her mother's violent coughs gave way to weak gurgles and a final, whispered prayer that her daughter would one day escape the hardships she herself had always known.

The second was the thin palette on the rusty metal frame that she was given at the orphanage. This one, at least, had been raised up off of the floor, but the scratchy blankets with which she had been provided had not been enough to ward off the cold that set in each autumn and lingered until the following May.

The third bed was, of course, the one that she had been given in the attic when the woman at the orphanage had found her the position at Miss Minchin's.

And now, she lay awake beneath a satin-covered eiderdown quilt, on a mattress that felt like a cloud, in a carved four poster bed hung with brocade, marveling at how a person could be a lowly scullery maid one day, and find herself having tea with the richest young lady in the world the very next afternoon.


	3. So Great a Change

Becky woke the next morning to the sound of a match being struck, and when she opened her eyes and sat up, she saw a young maidservant kneeling in front of the hearth. She looked strong and well-nourished and not at all overworked, and her dress, her apron and her cap were all new and of good quality.

After she had finished laying the fire, the maid stood up and turned round, and seeing Becky sitting up in bed, she gave a little start.

"Oh, I do apologize, miss," she said with a small curtsey. "'Twas not my intention to wake you."

Becky simply stared at the girl for a few seconds, and then she burst out laughing until her eyes filled with tears.

"Miss?" the maid said, frowning and shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.

Becky wiped her eyes and managed to regain her composure."I beg yer pardon," she said. "I don't mean to laugh. I'm jest-this is all so new an'-well-overwhelmin' I s'pose."

"I see, miss," the maid said, but her tone was cold and she looked as if she did not understand in the least. "Excuse me." And with another quick curtsey, she exited the room.

Her name was Kate, and Mrs. Lemmon or some other servant must have explained the situation to her, for when she knocked on Becky's door a few days later with a parcel that had just arrived from the tailor, she had a kinder look in her eyes.

Over the days that followed, several more packages were delivered to the house for Sara and Becky. Sara's new wardrobe was just as grand as it had been before her dark days, but Becky's new clothes, though nicer than anything she could have imagined for herself, were not at all ostentatious. There were warm flannel nightgowns, thick stockings, fine cambric blouses, and sturdy woollen skirts with matching jackets.

There were also a great many more underthings than she was used to-chemises and pantaloons and petticoats, as well as a corset that made drawing one's breath quite difficult, but that the tailor insisted was necessary.

"I s'pose I'll get used to it," she told Mrs. Lemmon resignedly after the housekeeper had laced her up for the first time. She had been through a great many hardships in her short life, and if this was to be her chief difficulty from now on, she could manage, in spite of the poking sensation in her ribs and the slight lightheadedness she began to feel after wearing it for a few minutes.

"Well, now let's just let it out a bit," Mrs. Lemmon suggested sympathetically, and then she loosened the strings. "How's that, dear?"

Becky took in a great breath of air and let it out with relief. "Much better, mum, thank you."

Becky was pleased with her new clothes, but the last items to arrive caused considerable consternation for her. The tailor, accompanied by his attendants, delivered them himself.

"Yes, this color looks quite ravishing on you," he said as he helped her into a deep wine-colored coat with a matching velvet collar while Sara looked on with delight.

"And to go with it…" he placed a large, feather-trimmed velvet hat of the same shade as the coat atop her head and stepped back to admire his work.

"Oh Becky!" Sara cried breathlessly, clasping her hands to her heart. "You look lovely!"

But Becky felt no such delight, and could only study her reflection with a mounting sense of misery. The color was beautiful, to be sure, but the velvet and the feathers looked ridiculous on someone of her station, and she was at a loss as to what to do. She felt obliged to indulge Sara's whims, for she feared that any protest on her part would be seen as ingratitude, but she felt very much like Emily or the Last Doll or some other object to be dressed up, and she found the situation extremely distressing. She was so upset, in fact, that she had unconsciously begun to wring her hands, and Sara could not help noticing.

"What is it, Becky?" Sara asked. "What's the matter? Don't you like it?"

Becky bit her lip and tried to keep silent, but her feelings were stronger than her resolve. "Oh Miss, I don't mean to be ungrateful, truly, I don't," she burst forth passionately, "but it's too much!"

"What's too much?"

"The-the feathers, Miss. And the velvet. They're-well-they're jest-too grand for someone like me."

The tailor gasped indignantly, but Sara knew from experience that so great and sudden a change in one's circumstances could produce quite a shock, and she was not in the least offended. She studied Becky thoughtfully. "Perhaps...perhaps we could remove the feathers and then you won't feel so strange? But the velvet looks so lovely on you! Oh, Becky, couldn't you at least _try_ to get used to it?"

Becky would have preferred a simple wool coat in an inconspicuous color, but she did not wish to be seen as impertinent, so she swallowed her discomfort and nodded. "Yes, I believe I could, Miss, so long as I don't have to wear the feathers."

Sara turned to the tailor with a sigh and a sad smile. "If you would be so kind, Mr. Martin. And I suppose we had better cancel the order for the lace blouses. At least for now."

So the tailor gritted his teeth and removed the feathers, leaving only a satin ribbon to adorn his masterpiece.


	4. The Largest Diamond in the World

The food at Mr. Carrisford's house was abundant and rich, and Becky, whose diet had hitherto consisted mainly of bread and porridge, was overjoyed at first. But after a few weeks, it seemed to her as though one meal had scarcely ended before it was time to sit down to the next. The amount and variety of meats served at luncheon and supper was astonishing, and each afternoon the tea table was filled with trays of little cakes, bonbons, and other confections which set her teeth on edge and upset both her stomach and her nerves.

Supper was an interminable affair consisting of several courses, at least one of which always involved some sort of fish, and Becky could scarcely stomach the taste of anything that had come from the sea.

She particularly despised blancmange, which happened to be Mr. Carrisford's favorite dessert, for its slippery texture called to mind images of nasty creatures slithering through the mud.

Poor Becky attempted to moderate the amount of food she ate, but Sara, who loved to share her good fortune, pressed all manner of delicacies upon her, and having only recently made such a fuss over the feathers on her hat, Becky did not wish to make a habit of refusing her mistress's generosity; she ate caviar, foie gras, lobster quenelles, pates des fruits, marrons glaces, and petit fours without complaint, and consequently spent a great many evenings in discomfort.

She began to dread mealtimes, and she looked forward to the afternoons that Ermengarde or Lottie were invited to tea, for on those days Sara was too distracted by her guests to pay attention to the contents of Becky's plate.

On one such occasion when Ermengarde was visiting, Sara was so aflutter with excitement that Becky managed to get away with eating nothing at all from the tea tray.

"Oh Becky! Oh Ermie!" Sara exclaimed as soon as they had sat down. "Mr. Carrisford has just shared the most wonderful news with me. We've found, in our mine, the largest diamond in the world! There's going to be a story about it in the papers. It will be called the Carrisford-Crewe diamond!"

"The largest, you say, miss?" Becky asked respectfully as she poured herself a cup of tea.

"Yes. Three-thousand, one-hundred and six carats!"

"Three thousand?!" Ermengarde cried.

"How big is that, Miss Sara?" Becky asked.

"Uncle Tom says it is larger than my hand when I clench it."

Becky and Ermengarde both gasped.

"What will you do with it?" Ermengarde asked. "Will you wear it when you come out?"

"I don't know," Sara said thoughtfully.

Becky tried to imagine Sara wearing such an enormous jewel, and before she could restrain herself, she had let out a rather unladylike snort of laughter.

Sara looked at her quizzically.

"I beg yer pardon, Miss," Becky said. "I was jest thinkin' o' you wearin' that diamond round yer neck like a millstone an'-" and she broke into laughter again.

Sara and Ermengarde began to laugh as well. "Yes, I can't quite picture it myself," Sara agreed. "I suppose I would look quite ridiculous."


End file.
